La Vie Boheme, Part P
by the-Mad-Majesty-of-Muchness
Summary: It's that time of year again: BREE'S BIRTHDAY! But this time, we're leaving Carlotta Gudicelli in peace. So, where ARE we going this year? Simple: Alphabat City. Rating is because...well...it's RENT, duh. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BREMELA!


**AN: HAPPY EARLY BIRTHDAY, BREE! The "P" in the title of the story stands for "psycho," since that's what us, Linda, and Rylee are. :P**

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><p>Linda made some shifty eyes and said, "It's quiet...<em>Too<em> quiet...Especially considering the fact that it's Bree's birthday...Shouldn't we be doing something special, like, oh, I dunno, dumping a gallon of neon paint all over Carlotta Freaking Gudicelli?"

"Uh, _noooo,_ you mushy-headed billybob, that's what we did _last _year," Maggie said. _"This _year, I've got something even better planned for her birthday." Rylee cocked an eyebrow. "Better than torturing Carlotta? I doubt it." Bree stuffed a cloth into the other girl's mouth. "Let Her Mad Majesty speak, Rylee," she said.

"Actually," Maggie said, standing up, "I was thinking I could just _show_ you, instead." She snapped and a flash of red, yellow, green, and blue light filled the room.

They were standing in the middle of the loft that Mark Cohen and Roger Davis shared in RENT, with a very confused Roger sitting on the couch with his guitar, looking up at them. He blinked. "Damn," he muttered, "I really gotta stop drinking Stoli before I go to bed, it's messin' with my brain."

Maggie and Bree grinned at each other. "Rooooogeeeeer," Maggie said, waving her hands around in front of him. "We come on behalf of AAAAAApriiiiiiil as her meeeeeesseeeengeeeeeersssss. She is jeeeeeeealooooouuuuus of Miiiiiiiimiiiiiiiii and wants you to breeeeeaaaak uuuuuuup with heeeeeeeer."

Again, Roger blinked. "MAAAAAAARK! HELP! THERE'S A BUNCHA CRAZY PEOPLE IN OUR LIVING ROOM CLAIMING TO BE MESSENGERS FROM APRIL AND ONE OF 'EM JUST TOLD ME TO DUMP MY GIRLFRIEND!"

"Dammit, Roger," a voice said as footsteps came towards them from another room. "How many times have I told you to quit drinking Stoli before-HOLY SHIT!" Mark dropped his camera on the floor in his shock.

"MARKY!" Linda said happily as she and her friends danced over to him and threw their arms around his waist from all four sides. "Omigaw, lookit, guys," Bree said. "I'm touching The Scarf!"

"NO, DON'T TOUCH THAT THING, IT'S A FUCKING PYTHON IN DISGUISE!" Roger shouted, jumping up off the couch and pulling the teenager away from his best friend's blue and white scarf. The strawberry blonde only smiled up at him in amazed worship.

"Oooooooh...myyyyy...goooood...You're touching me...You're_ actually _touching me...Roger Davis, I love you so much, I'm like your biggest fan...You have no idea how much it means to me that you're actually touching me on my birthday..."

Meanwhile, Maggie had slipped away while nobody was paying any attention, but now emerged from the kitchen with a large bottle in her hands and a big grin on her face. "Hey, guys!" she said. "Check out what I found on the counter next to the hot plate! Stoli!"

Roger frowned. "Dammit!" he said, letting go of Bree and heading into the kitchen. "Enrico, I thought I told you to guard that for me, you dick!" Linda turned to Mark in confusion. "Who's he talking to?" she asked. Mark shook his head as he picked up his camera.

"He talks to several of the inanimate objects around the loft. Apparently they all have names, and Enrico is the hot plate. He says that Enrico has a sidejob in the Italian Hot Plate Mafia."

"True story, little dudettes," Roger said, poking his head out of the kitchen. "And I got some pigeon buddies up on the roof, also. They give me advice and crap, they're all totally awesome, just like me, which is why we're friends. By the way, anybody know how to cuss in Italian?"

_"ACCIDENTI MADRE_ _CAZZO IDIOTA CAGNA!"_ Maggie shrieked. Everybody stared at her in shock. She shrugged. "What?" she said. "Dude...How old are you?" Roger asked. "Fifteen, why?" she responded. He broke into a huge grin. "Where'd you learn that shit?" She shrugged again. "I have my ways," she said simply. "What's it mean?"

"'Damn mother fucking dumbass bitch.' I got some more, if you want." He nodded excitedly. "Yes, please!" he said. She took a deep breath.

_"TESTA DI CAZZO! CULO! ASINO! MERDA!_ _FIGLIO DI UNA COAGNA! _Need I go on?" she asked. Roger shook his head. "Alright. Well, it means 'Shithead! Ass! Jackass! Shit! Son of a bitch!' And _cuzzo_ means 'dick' as well as 'fuck,' just so you know."

"Thank you," he said. He turned, went back into the kitchen, and a moment later, they heard him shout, _"ENRICO, SEI UN MADRE CAZZO TESTA DI CAZZO! VOI MERDA DI PEZZO! MI SEMBRAVA DI AVERTI DETTO A GUARDIA DEL CAZZO STOLI, VOI MADRE CAZZO FIGLIO DI UNA CAGNA! CAZZO VOI, ENRICO! CAZZO VOI ALL'INFERNO! TU E IL TUO CAZZO DI MAFIA ITALIANA PIASTRA_ _CALDA!"_

There was a huff, then footsteps as Roger came back out. He smiled at Maggie. _"La ringrazio molto, signorina," _he said. Maggie smiled back and curtseyed. _"Siete i benvenuti, signore,"_ she replied in an Italian accent.

Everybody else glanced back and forth between the two for a moment or so, then the door opened suddenly and Collins walked in with Angel. "Yo, wussup, bitche-THE FUCK?"

Bree clapped. "Yaaay, Angel's here!" Maggie smiled. "Really? Ooooh, look, Collins has more Stoli!" Angel beamed at her. "Ooooh, chica, I love your outfit!" she said. Maggie blushed. "Aaaw, thanks! You have no idea how much that means coming from you!"

_"Chiudere, Enrico__! Nessuno vuole sentire la tua dannata piangnistei, voi bastardo!"_ Roger yelled towards the kitchen. Mimi frowned as she came in. "Enrico being a douche again?" she asked, plopping down next to her boyfriend. "I told him to guard the damn Stoli I had sitting on the counter, and what does he do? He lets a fifteen year old girl pick it up and bring it into the living room, the dickhead."

Mimi got up onto her knees and shouted over Roger's head, _"Enrico, cazzo voi, doccia bolsa!"_ In under two seconds, Rylee was only inches away from the Latina girl's nose. "Fishnet. Where you buy? Tell psycho. Now. Before psycho cut you."

Bree screamed. "RYLEE! YOU DON'T EVER SPEAK LIKE THAT TO MIMI MARQUEZ OR ANY OF THE BOHEMIANS! YOU DON'T EVER CUT THEM, YOU DON'T EVER_ THREATEN _TO CUT THEM! DO YOU? UNDERSTAND? MY WORDS?"

"Bitch, I ain't Cho Chang!" Rylee said. Linda put one hand on her hip, grinned like a country bumpkin and said in a country accent, "I'm Cho Chang, ya'll." Maggie turned to Roger and frowned.

"Roger, _com'è che sei così fluente in Italiano, ma non sapeva come a cuss in__ esso?" _Roger shrugged. _"Non ho mai veramente solo sciuta alcuna ragione di prima d'ora. Enrico fa di solito quello che chiedo, quindi non siamo di solito sul imprecare termini con l'altro."_

"Then how the hell did Mimi know how to say douche bag?" the girl demanded, suddenly switching languages. Mimi smiled. "I took Italian in high school instead of Spanish, plus I'm one quarter Italian on my maternal grandmother's side."

The door opened yet again and Maureen came in, Joanne close on her heels, but before either of them could speak, Bree jumped between them and sang in the tune to DTL, "Let's go down to the Life Cafè-è! We should go there right no-ow! We should totally go there right this mi-inute, right on down to the Life Cafè-è! C'mon, follow me! You'll be happy to be there!"

Maggie said loudly, _"Posso totalmente a noi arrivare letteralmente in due secondi, ora guarda questo, cagnas!"_

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><p><strong>AN: THERE'S MORE TO COOOOOOME! *grabs onto Nyan Cat's tail as Nyan Cat flies over my head and gets carried off*<strong>

**DISCLAIMER: RENT non è mia. E 'di proprietà del genio che è Johnothan Larson. Non ho creato uno dei personaggi citati, li ho solo preso in prestito. Non ho scritto la canzone La Vie Boheme, né ho scritto La Vie Boheme B. Ho semplicemente preso in prestito il titolo. Non possiedo Linda, Rylee, e/o di Bree. Si possiedono, rispettivamente.**


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